


The Night Before, April 6, 1971

by MissAtomicBomb77



Series: For the Greater Good, Let's Do the News [18]
Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-08 01:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissAtomicBomb77/pseuds/MissAtomicBomb77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He bought her a ring over a year ago and every time he thinks it’s the right time to ask her, he can’t seem to muster the words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Before, April 6, 1971

April 6, 1971  
2:06am  
Charlie and Leona’s Apartment  
Phnom Penh, Cambodia

Charlie has learned when he’s done well that she is unable to speak and her body goes limp. It's as if he's drained the spirit from her body and it takes several minutes until she slowly starts to refill and function once again. He rests her gently back onto the bed so she's facing the ceiling before he leaves for a moment to fetch a wet washcloth for her.

There are no thoughts, only sensations. Every thought was gone and she most likely could not have told you her name, if she could even form the words. She loves this. She needs this. The only way she can explain it is that he wipes her slate clean so she can start again. All Lee comprehends is that the sheets are cool on her skin. It’s hot, it’s hot in the city, it’s hot in the room and all she knows is that a fine film of sweat covers every inch of her skin. The rainy season is late this year, everything is hot and drier longer than usual and she, along with everyone else in the city cannot wait for the rainy afternoons.

Charlie's back at her side now with a small bowl and washcloth from the bathroom. He sets the bowl on the floor nearby as he sits on the edge of the bed now and reaches out one arm to lift her head and shoulders off the bed so he can use the washcloth to wipe her forehead, her face then her neck. He body was heavy but as he wiped her skin he could feel her lighten against his arm as her muscle control returned to her.

He continues with her shoulders and her chest, the valley between her breasts and her breasts. Charlie eases her back on the bed to refresh his washcloth and continue his work. He lets her lie on the bed as he worked her arms, hands, fingers. Then he works his way to her stomach and lifts her hips off the bed to reach her lower back and ass.

He eases her body back on the bed and goes back for more water. Gently, carefully he tends to her apex, then her thighs, legs and finally to her feet. He's in no rush and there are no complaints. She subconsciously moved with him, to help him finish his task. Once he was certain that he had covered every inch of her, he returned to the bathroom and tended to himself before returning to the bed.

Lee rolled to her side, conscious of her name and Charlie's name next. She knows that he’s in the bathroom and hears him soon enough back by the bedside, pulling on a pair of pants. While she was content to be naked, he always preferred to be half dressed. He lies back in bed with her, his knuckles drifting across her hips.

His mind is wandering now and he just decides to let the words tumble from his mouth. "You're a queen," he says, just above a whisper. "You deserve to be covered in jewels and the finest clothes. To have the best of everything this world has to offer.” He kisses her shoulder. “You like to think that when we do this that I'm in control but that’s not the case, you’re the one in control. Everything I do is for you, Leona, lovely, lovely Leona. I'm ever faithful to you. I’m you’re Knight. I'll be loyal, I'll be steadfast. I'll do whatever you ask of me. Not just because you're a queen in name, but in heart.”

“I’m a queen?” She asks and he can hear her smile.

“I know you’re a queen at heart because I have nothing to offer you, I'll never be able to give you the life you deserve but you let me worship at your alter anyway. You let me give you the only thing I can offer you: my small self."

She rolls towards him now, her eyes shimmering. "You'd never betray me?" These are the first words real word other than the litany that was his name that she’s spoken in hours.

"How could I, your majesty?"

She smiles at him. "I don't need anything other than you, Charlie, I keep telling you this, I never will."

“I’ll still worry that you will need more than I’ll be able to give. I’ll worry about that until my last dying breath.” He takes her face in his hands and kisses her, mostly to keep her from retorting. She has no retort he would accept. After a moment, they finish and he pulls her closer, kissing her eyelids to encourage her to sleep. She needs little more encouragement than that. Charlie wipes her out completely and she always needs a few minutes of rest to recover. 

He likes to watch her sleep; it’s one of the pleasures he has being with her. He could tick the things he loves about her off all day and it would embarrass her to no end. She has a bad habit of talking for the sake of doing so and he guesses that it’s the only way she knows to catch anyone’s attention. So her not talking… does things to him, because he’s such an aficionado of silence and knows, knows that it’s something she has to work to give. Of course, he likes her when she makes this noise the half gasp half scream with a touch of surprise when her eyes go wide when she’s taken off guard. How she huffs when her hair won’t stay back while she’s typing like a mad woman. How when she’s reading something intently she mindlessly stretches her legs, sometimes throwing one in the air above her head. These things about her that help create context of who she is in his mind. 

She sighs and turns, so that her back is against his chest and his arms can wrap around her and pull her against him.

Charlie doesn’t know why he feels the need tonight to catalog all of these things in his mind. She’s right here, in his arms and makes her intentions clear over and over again that she’s not going to leave him. He wonders what they are going to do when this war is over. Right now living here in Cambodia is easy, but neither one of them knows what’s next… where the next story is going to be. He’s heard some rumblings that the Middle East is ripe for Communist influence, but would she be willing to do that? She’s already given up her life, such a privileged life. What if she grows tired of roughing it? What if she grows tired of him?

He chastises himself for letting his mind wander. They’re going to make this work, he knows it. He bought her a ring over a year ago and every time he thinks it’s the right time to ask her, he can’t seem to muster the words. It’s not a hard question to ask and he knows the answer. Really, he does. She’s said it in so many ways and showed him in so many times that her chains really are his for the keeping. The real reason he hesitates now pricks at his mind, her family. He comes from nothing, has nothing and because of this has nothing to offer. 

He couldn’t even muster a damn for his family. He doesn’t love them, he doesn’t hate them. They are literally irrelevant to him. Her family, old money and the wealth that comes with it, their prestige, their power and the way they do things. They are a true enigma to him, because he cannot fathom why one family would need so much when there are people in the United States in this day and age that are starving. She doesn’t seem to be like them, thankfully, because he would have no patience or use for her otherwise. He’s irrationally afraid of them, because really, would they matter at the end of the day? Would they be able to grow to accept that he would never let anything happen to her? That he loves her and not their considerable wealth?

He wishes that he could not think about things like that so hard and so much. Lee has taught him to rely on impulse a little more, only because she has no impulse control of her own. He wishes that he could truly let go long enough to ask her to marry him. She’s Catholic, he’s Presbyterian, they’re living in a Buddhist country, and yet he has to keep reminding himself that things like that just didn’t matter. He thinks tomorrow night he’ll do it. Tomorrow was shaping up to be a typical day between them, they’d go out on location for a story, work in the office for a while, and with no airs about them he can just ask. Maybe he’ll ask her over their typical market dinner while picking out vegetables, or leave the ring on her typewriter while she works on the latest story. Maybe he’ll just slip it on her finger after they’ve made love and see what she says. He supposes it should be just a little bit special, just not pretentious. He closes his eyes finally as his mind starts to settle in on that plan.

He’s going to ask her to marry him. Tomorrow night.


End file.
